


Day is for the myths

by Liaeling



Series: Into the Ends of the World [4]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Dancing with the Lion - Jeanne Reames, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaeling/pseuds/Liaeling
Summary: "Hephaestion felt his ears burning, certain all his bones would break at another word from Alexander. He was making sure they all knew where he stood. Right next to him.If he could not do that in front of the Macedonian army and High Command, he could do it in front of the women who were now under his care, two among them their future wives."
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great & Hephaistion of Macedon, Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon
Series: Into the Ends of the World [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061774
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	Day is for the myths

**Author's Note:**

> Ending this 2020 with the last part of this series. This year brought for me a new and unexpected creative implosion that ended up in me writing like mad. Thanks to all my readers (and commenters) that so kindly spent their time looking into my mind through some words on a screen.  
> You are all amazing.
> 
> Let’s hope this 2021 brings us better skies.

“You look princely, my love,” whispered Alexander behind him, arms enveloping him tightly.

Hephaestion sighed. The sun was up and with it, he began to have second thoughts about the whole operation. He was standing in the middle of Darius’, now Alexander’s, Royal Tent and he was a cape away from being ready to pay an early morning visit to the Persian Royal Family… right after rising from a still-warm bed he had shared with the King.

Suddenly, he felt like pushing Alexander away. He wasn’t sure if this was proper or not.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s proper or not, Hephaestion,” Alexander whispered, reading his thoughts like he was reading ‘The Iliad’ all over again, “This is the first step.”

Hephaestion turned around, painfully aware of the height difference between him and the King. He had to look down sharply, Alexander’s nose barely brushing his chin as he looked up.

“The first step to what? The comedy play of my life?” he said with sarcasm while rolling his eyes.

Alexander chuckled as he encircled him and pulled him closer. He was wearing a  _ chiton _ , cuirass,  _ pteruges, _ and sandals, all very similar to the ones he had chosen for him. Hephaestion’s  _ chiton _ was a little short on him, being an old one he had left behind in Alexander’s chests during one of the long nights of campaign. The cuirass was one of Alexander’s, which he had ordered be modified so it would fit him. He hadn’t worn it before, he found Alexander’s generosity stifling sometimes. Truth was, he loved the idea of looking alike, but he was ashamed to admit it.

“You will greet the Royal Family next to me. Not behind, not by the entrance.  _ Next _ to me,” Hephaestion mouth dropped at those words. He had to be joking, “We are about to meet the women Darius’ left behind as he fled from us. Even after I kill Darius...”

“If you can catch him,” Hephaestion whispered, smiling lightly.

“Even after I kill Darius,” Alexander continued, rolling his eyes at him, “they will still be the Royal women that carry the blood that all of Persia once paid tribute to.”

Hephaestion nodded as he enveloped the King to return the hug, letting his eyebrows rise in a knowing gesture. What had  _ that  _ to do with him standing next to Alexander?

“And that blood will remain Royal. If it is connected to their new King… or not,” Alexander finished, looking intently at Hephaestion.

Hephaestion stared. For some moments, the only sounds around them were the Day Guards changing places with the Night Guards outside the tent. 

Yes, of course he was  _ joking _ . What he was implying was absolutely demented, a fit reserved for Dionysus’ madness in wine. He couldn’t be implying…

“I’m afraid you’ll have no choice but to marry the youngest. The conqueror should marry the eldest, I think,” Alexander stated casually, like he was talking about the weather.

Hephaestion broke the embrace and pushed Alexander away, shock cursing through his veins like lightning. Alexander took a step back and stared, an innocent look on his face. He was serious. He was dead serious about the words he had pronounced. This was not a wish, or a fantasy of his, he had been thinking about this for… how long? Since he learned about Darius’ daughters?

“Just imagine, Hephaestion,” he said breathily, eyes going soft, “Your children will be my nephews and nieces and mine yours.”

Hephaestion turned around, presenting his back to the King. He felt a cold chill run down his back. He was too much of a philosophical materialist to believe in premonition, but if there was anything like it, this had to be it. Alexander was sure his plans would become his reality, but Hephaestion wasn’t so sure.

“And, just think…” Alexander whispered, voice soft and vulnerable, “I could marry my first son to your first daughter. Both Royal... both born out of love.”

He turned on his heels so quickly he felt the Persian carpet under him slide to the side. He looked at Alexander, standing in the middle of an extravagant and opulent Royal Tent, designed for a person that probably doubled him in height. Everything around him appeared gigantic next to him, the mere scale of it wrong. He was dressed in the best clothes he had and still, he looked simple in the middle of an excess of wealth. And for a moment, Hephaestion saw him as he was and heard the meaning behind the last words he had spoken.

Alexander was Royal, but he hadn’t been born out of love. He wanted his future children to know what it was to be loved simply for being alive. 

Hephaestion brought his hand to his face, massaging the space between his eyebrows absentmindedly. Alexander was offering him all on a golden plate. Not out of a plan to keep him loyal like his mother would have done, or out of a pull and push to keep him on his toes like his father had done in life. He was offering him all out of love.

“They are little girls, Alexander,” he started, choosing his words carefully, “We can’t marry them yet.”

It was like someone had pushed Alexander from the back. He sprang forward and fell toward Hephaestion, crushing him and leaving him breathless in the midst of the tightest embrace they had ever shared. He buried his face in his new cuirass, not uttering a word. Hephaestion simply held him close, praying to all the gods that his wish would come to pass. Let him have this, after all he suffered since birth.

Alexander pulled away slightly, not breaking the embrace but leaving enough space to look up at him. There were unshed tears in his eyes.

“We will send them to Susa where they can learn Greek and philosophy… and maybe even mathematics,” he whispered, voice filled with emotion, “Imagine them actually understanding the beauty of abstract ideas, or how to properly craft an argument.”

Hephaestion smiled down at him, pride swelling inside him. Alexander was so much more than his parents ever taught him. He was so much better than they could ever be.

“I sometimes think about Cleopatra… or Thessalonike, or even Cynane,” he continued, naming his sisters with melancholy in his eyes, “And I think of all the things they could have learned if only they had been allowed to. Of how many short conversations between us could have been expanded if they had shared my education…” he trailed off, aware that Hephaestion agreed but conscious that he couldn’t quite comprehend his point of view. 

Hephaestion had never lived his childhood. He could try and understand but never truly comprehend it entirely.

Alexander fell to silence, eyes downcast and lips pressed into a line. Hephaestion looked at him intently, wishing he could slice open his cranium and look into his deepest unshared thoughts.

He was so beautiful. His ideas were so beautiful.

“They will get educated, Alexander,” Hephaestion started, trying to find the right words for his mighty plan, “And then, we’ll marry them and create a new line.”

Alexander looked up at him, a bright smile lighting his face and making dimples appear on his cheeks. Maybe Hephaestion couldn’t comprehend every single aspect of his mind, but he could appreciate and support him. Most of the time, that was all he needed. 

“But before that,” Hephaestion said, tone going softer and a bit menacing, “You forgot to put my cape on.”

Alexander chuckled and broke the embrace to find the  _ lapis lazuli _ cape, dramatically swirling it around Hephaestion before pinning it with one of his own golden brooches _ ,  _ his favorite one with the lions. He was humming softly, making fun of Hephaestion’s actual junior staff, who had a habit of making noise while working. Hephaestion smiled and raised his hand to lightly hit him in the head.

“Less noise, more work, boy,” he said curtly, the smile never leaving his lips.

Alexander smiled back as he finished with the brooch and slowly began to straighten the cape, only to actually circle him and shamelessly pat him all around, excusing himself with a “Just straightening the cape, Sir”.

He finally stopped fidgeting around him and took a step back in front of him, looking him up and down with pleasure dancing in his eyes.

“If I didn't know any better, I’d say  _ you _ are the King,” he stated with an appreciative nod, hands on hips.

Hephaestion snorted loudly and walked past him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him after.

“If you start combing my hair again, I  _ will _ kill the current King and actually become the new one,”  Alexander laughed as he let himself be led towards the outer Royal Tent, all the while whimpering in mock fear for his life.

Hephaestion smiled to himself. Maybe being dressed by Alexander wasn’t so bad after all.

* * *

Now he knew he should have picked his clothes himself. He felt color rising into his face, more for the woman kneeling before him than for himself. He knew the Queen Mother would never forget this day, nor would the veiled wife of Darius and her two young daughters behind her. Not even the train of women-in-waiting at the back would forget. He almost wished he didn’t have to contradict Sisygambis, he wanted to spare her the pain of embarrassment. But alas, it was not to be. He finally took a step back.

The Head Eunuch next to her was gesturing so wildly to the Queen Mother, it was almost comical. He was trying to let her know of her mistake by making as little noise as possible, hoping to draw little attention to himself. He actually thought Alexander hadn’t noticed. What he didn’t know was that Alexander noticed everything.

Next to him, Alexander raised his chin slightly and Hephaestion saw by the corner of his eye that he was blushing, too.

Finally, Sisygambis noticed the eunuch’s plight and she turned slightly, head still down in prostration. He whispered some words between clenched teeth and the Queen Mother immediately raised her head, impressively fast for her age. She slowly shifted towards Alexander, trying to appear as naturally graceful as possible, but Hephaestion saw her tightly shut eyes as she shifted. She knew she had made a terrible mistake.

The waiting women at the back of the tent were softly weeping, one of them even covering her face with a dark cloth. In their world, a slip in the Court protocol usually meant death, especially for the women. Sisygambis was the mother of the King, but the King had fled and left them to whatever fate the victor chose to bestow upon them. They expected nothing but suffering from this new conqueror.

Suddenly, Alexander’s clear baritone voice broke the uncomfortable silence.

“You were not mistaken, Mother; for this man too is Alexander.”

Hephaestion looked straight ahead, eyes unblinking. He felt the shock wave pass through the tent at Alexander’s words. Behind him, the guards standing at attention shuffled in their posts. Outside the tent, Leonnatus - who had come to greet them and wait for them to come out - made no noise. Around the tent, a whisper flowed like wildfire. The words translated into Imperial Aramaic, the official language of the Empire, sounded soft, like a song in search of a tune.

Hephaestion could hear his heartbeat drum inside his skull, sound echoing and making him feel like he was underwater. Alexander had said...  _ that _ .

He could feel the shuffling of the women and eunuchs, all unsure if the translation offered by the Head Eunuch was badly made or if the words simply had no real translation to their language.

Sisygambis looked up, eyes sparkling with real understanding for a second. Hephaestion knew then, she must know enough Greek to understand.

Alexander crouched down, reaching towards her and helping her to her feet in a very tender gesture. He was truly touched by the Queen Mother’s mistake. Hephaestion saw some blush still on Alexander’s cheeks. He noticed Sisygambis did not recoil nor step away from him quickly. They looked into each other's eyes. Royal judging Royal.

And suddenly, she nodded, a slight smile wrinkling the corner of her eyes and making light dance across them. She still leaned into Alexander’s arm, using her old age wisely in order to assess his new captor. Alexander smiled back, a childish light in his eyes.

“Yesterday I sent you a cape, Mother. One that my own mother wove for me,” he said slowly, enunciating every word with care.

The Head Eunuch quickly got up, scuttling close to Sisygambis to translate Alexander’s words but he was stopped short by a hand from her. Hephaestion took his chance and took another step back, thankful to be out of the spotlight and slightly surprised at the grace with which Sisygambis conducted herself. This was a Queen Mother, unlike hostile Olympias.

“Yes, my son. I did not know Queens wove,” she said in choppy Greek, words flowing strangely into each other but not unpleasantly. 

Hephaestion stared, shock stopping him from reacting physically. What a perfectly elegant backlash. She had practically called Olympias a barbarian. Hephaestion wondered if Imperial Aramaic was this poetic, or if this was Sisygambis’ character making an appearance.

Alexander simply laughed lightly, drawing looks from everyone around the room, Hephaestion included.

“From where I come from, all women weave,” he stated, tone casual and relaxed, “My sisters, my aunt, as well as the women who work the earth or tend to their house. Our women clothe us, you see. Their hands cover us from afar.”

And there it was, the King in Alexander answered back, never backing down from a good debate. The Head Eunuch quickly translated the harder words for Sisygambis, giving time for Hephaestion to look down, trying to hide his smile. It was like Alexander to defend and explain what no other Macedonian or Greek male would even begin to think about.

Before Sisygambis could respond, Alexander turned to Hephaestion, looking him straight in the eye.

“You see, Mother. This cape once belonged to me,” he said, reaching out for Hephaestion’s lapis cape and sprawling it out for all to see, “My sister wove it for me before my crossing to Asia. And now her hands protect my dearest friend. Along with the memories I created while wearing it. There is power in the caring, when done from the heart.”

Hephaestion felt his ears burning, certain all his bones would break at another word from Alexander. He was making sure they all knew where he stood.  _ Right next _ to him. 

If he could not do that in front of the Macedonian army and High Command, he could do it in front of the women who were now under his care, two among them their future wives.

Hephaestion felt the Queen Mother’s eyes on him, assessing him for the first time. Persians did not share power, neither did they believe in showing emotion openly. But Sisygambis’ stare spoke of an understanding beyond ethnic lines or Court procedures.

After a moment of looking straight at him, unlike any other women he had ever encountered, he bowed his head towards Hephaestion. A mark of respect usually shown between men, also common between Royalty. Coming from Darius’ Mother, it was as sure as confirming him Royal.

The women at the back of the tent began murmuring, unsure what to make of this spectacle that broke all the protocols they lived under. Hephaestion noticed that only the veiled wife and young daughters of the King remained frozen. Either they knew Sisygambis was working to save them all from the conqueror, or they were graceful enough to not react. Either way, he was pleased. These women exuded a silent power, even in captivity.

“Mother, would you be kind enough to offer us some refreshment? I am afraid we have arrived too early and we had no chance of even drawing water near our lips,” Alexander entoned, cadence soft and lilting, as charming as he could be.

Instantly, there was quick movement around the tent. The attendants appeared out of nowhere and began moving around carpets, couches and floor cushions. They moved in perfect synchrony, trained since birth to serve and never even think of asking for anything.

Alexander began chatting with Sisygambis about the geographical region they were at, trying to charm her into comfort. While the servants prepared everything, the women-in-waiting disappeared demurely behind a curtain, but the Royal Women did not move. They still lay prostrated on the ground, sitting back on their heels. Hephaestion felt two sets of eyes on him and turned his head slightly to look with the corner of his eye.

The two young daughters of the King were looking at him, not directly at his face but in his direction. He felt their attention on his every move. He noticed they both had dark, almond-shaped eyes, pretty and bright. Their dress was fit to their station, surely the Queen Mother wanted the conqueror to notice he wasn’t keeping two simple girls but two Royal Soon-to-be-Women. The eldest, probably not even nine years old, was slightly taller than the youngest, or maybe she truly was the youngest. One could never tell at such a young age. Hephaestion wondered if they knew any Greek, or if Sisygambis had kept them secluded even in language. They surely never thought they would one day be left behind by their father to be taken under the care of a Macedonian General-Leader. They had no need in their lives for any other language but their own. Until now.

Finally, the servants stopped scurrying about, and the Head Eunuch stepped forward towards the Queen Mother. She noticed by the corner of her eye and turned to him.

“My new son will help me to my seat, you are all dismissed,” she said sharply, her tone brooking no argument.

The Head Eunuch stood confused for a moment, unsure what to make of his Mistress’ order. But finally, he bowed his head low and backed away, never turning his back on either Sisygambis or Alexander. It took him three breaths to order all servants, attendants and eunuchs behind a curtain, only to back away into it himself and disappear.

Only the Royal Women, Alexander, and Hephaestion remained in the tent. Alexander had dismissed the Macedonian guards that were guarding the inner entrance with a gesture.

Hephaestion immediately stiffened. Women were tricky business, especially when Royal. Them being alone with the women would be known almost immediately at camp, rumours flying everywhere. All attendants and guards were beyond a separating cloth, but still… they weren’t present. Hephaestion turned to Alexander, wondering what was going through his mind. This was mad.

Before Hephaestion could begin to try and make Alexander see reason, Darius’ wife stood up in a single movement, graceful and quick. She was as tall as Hephaestion. She took two steps forward and then dipped low, going down into a full prostration in front of Alexander. Hephaestion noticed her veil did not move. It must be attached to her neck to prevent her face from being disclosed.

Alexander accepted the prostration stiffly, still unsure if he should ask them to stop or not. After the Queen rose and stepped to the side, the two little girls behind her stood up. They were equally graceful, only a bit more slow. Their little feet made a soft sound against the Persian carpets underneath as they went down to do the full prostration.

Hephaestion felt Alexander stare at him from the corner of his eye. There was mirth in his eyes. He was actually wondering what Hephaestion had wondered earlier. Which was the oldest of the two? Or, to put it mildly, who would marry whom?

The girls rose swiftly, backing down slowly to stand behind their mother. Sisygambis sighed loudly.

“I am sorry, my King. The girls are still learning etiquette and they are unrefined,” she exclaimed loudly, shame clearly showing in her words.

“No, Mother. They are dignified in their posture. Yes, they are young but all precious stones need a good polish to shine brighter,” he said simply. Hephaestion heard some hidden embarrassment in his tone. He could not see what they did wrong. To their untrained eyes, their prostration was the same as the Queen’s.

Sisygambis nodded, still looking towards her granddaughters in shame. Alexander broke the tension by reaching towards the Queen Mother.

“Shall we, Mother? Let me help you to your seat,” he led her without touching her, aware that even if equal in royalty, age and experience separated them. 

Hephaestion followed slowly behind, aware of the still figures of the other woman and girls. Apparently, their protocol dictated they followed only after all men in the room passed them. As he passed right in front of the veiled Queen, he felt her stare through the cloth. If Sisygambis was all charm, he felt an intensity emanating from behind that veil. This woman was Darius’, through and through. He must sit between her and Alexander. Women’s garments were perfect for concealment of daggers.

Alexander and Sisygambis were already seated, and while Hephaestion was considering the proper place for him in this setting, he saw from the corner of his eye a short shadow run quickly across the tent.

The soldier in him reacted faster than the diplomat, and he swiftly stood in the path of the moving shadow and stopped it in its tracks by grabbing it and hoisting it up. 

A death-like silence filled the tent and it took Hephaestion a breath to realize why. He had hoisted up from the back of his embroidered purple tunic none other than the youngest of the Family, the heir to the throne: Darius’ son.

Two round dark eyes looked at him, curiously staring like only a young child could. He was no older than six.

“Is this young Ochus?” Alexander broke the silence, voice ringing with genuine curiosity. He was consciously breaking the tense silence and showing them he meant no harm, not even to the heir to the throne he so craved to possess.

Hephaestion slowly let the child down, placing him softly on his tiny feet upon the carpeted floor. His eyes resembled the eyes of a wild mountain lion. Young he was, but not oblivious to his station.

Little Ochus stumbled past him, not even paying him a second thought and quickly walked towards Alexander. Before either his mother or grandmother could intervene, he looked up at Alexander and put his arms out and up, asking to be picked up in the universal gesture all young children used.

At this, not even Hephaestion could contain himself. He coughed loudly, trying to hide his laugh behind it. Such a way to relieve the tension in the room.

Sisygambis said some quick words in Aramaic but Alexander stopped her mid-sentence. Hephaestion looked towards him and knew then and there what he was about to do. He had to cough again in a barely contained laughing fit.

Alexander picked up young Ochus swiftly and sat him on his lap, drawing an instant and almost violent reaction from all the women in the room. Sisygambis sat up straight, eyes shining. The veiled Queen took a step forward and then stopped short. Both girls looked down, smiling demurely.

Hephaestion couldn’t contain himself any longer. He looked away and took a deep breath in, letting a low chuckle escape his lips. This was typical Alexander, bold military moves and bold diplomatic strokes.

“Look, Hephaestion,” Alexander said loudly, making him turn his head in disbelief at his casual tone, “Even young Ochus is braver than his father. He doesn’t shy away from me,” he said and actually reached down and kissed the boy on the brow.

Next to him, Sisygambis blushed and looked down, either from shame at Alexander’s comment about his son or at the open display of affection from a Royal man.

Hephaestion smiled at Alexander. Such a bold move. These women would never look at the world in the same way again.

“You see now, Mother. Neither I nor my friend mean any of you any harm. My quarrel is with your son who fled from me in battle and left you behind,” he said in a commanding and deep voice, “You are all safe while in my care. You shall keep everything your son left you with and be given more attendants proper to your station. This tent and all its belongings are yours and no one else’s.”

Sisygambis raised her head to look at Alexander, eyes widening slightly.

“I promise, Queen,” he continued, now facing towards the mother of the boy who was still sitting on his lap, “to see to the proper marriages of your daughters, when their ages allow. And I promise I shall bring up your son as if he were my own, for I intend to show him the Royal honor he is due.”

Hephaestion took a silent breath in. Alexander was giving the Royal Family the same treatment he would wish be bestowed on him by his enemy. Only a good man like Alexander would make these kinds of promises. Conquerors were usually merciless.

“And I also promise you I shall keep your dignity intact, Queen. For I will make sure that you shall never have to submit to anything that might compromise your former happy state,” he finished his statement, picking Ochus up and passing him to his grandmother.

“Now, I take your leave, Royal Family. I have battles to plan and marches to provide for. May you come to trust and love me as something else than the man who was victorious against your King.”

Alexander turned so he was facing everyone in the Royal Family, and before Sisygambis could protest, he bowed his head toward them. 

* * *

“You think you can keep those promises?” Hephaestion whispered, voice carrying across their couches.

They were having an early lunch in Alexander’s Royal Tent, sitting in different couches to stop the Pages from ogling at them. Alexander was reclining, almost full-on laying on his couch, all energy now gone from his frame. They hadn’t slept a wink.

“Yes, I wouldn’t have promised them if I couldn’t keep my word,” he said, waving his hand around in a casual gesture. 

He did not realize how unusual his promises had been. Most men would rape the Queen, sell the daughters and murder the Queen Mother. What other men did to heirs to the throne was not even worth thinking about.

“Besides, as I told you before, I plan on sending them to Susa as quickly as I kill Darius and take his throne,” he said nonchalantly, like he was talking about something written in stone. He was so confident it verged on cockiness.

Hephaestion chose silence after that statement. Sometimes the wisest course was away from conflict.

Alexander sat up abruptly, gesturing to his Senior Page close at hand. He whispered something to him that Hephaestion could not hear, but after some moments, he knew it had been a dismissal. The Pages slowly scurried about and left one by one, last one closing the inner tent flap with care.

Alexander stood up from his couch, unceremoniously making his way towards Hephaestion. He plopped down in front of his outstretched legs, leaning back into them. Hephaestion chuckled. For a moment, Alexander resembled little Ochus in his quick movements. Sometimes he forgot how truly young they were. Their childhood was not that far behind them.

“Did you like what I said back there?” he said softly, arm reaching out to stroke Hephaestion’s outer thigh.

“You’ll have to be more specific, you said a lot of things,” Hephaestion teased him, knowing full well what he meant.

“You know, what I said about…” he slid closer to his chest and rolled his eyes, arm slowly dipping towards his lower back, “about you being another me. About you wearing my clothes and carrying my memories…”

“About the ‘power in the caring, when done from the heart’?” whispered Hephaestion, while sitting up and closing the space between them. He had found those words a bit melodramatic, but that did not mean they were not beautiful.

Alexander stared at him, his face only a hand width away from his. His eyes were soft but he was biting his lip. He suddenly looked down, looking hurt.

“Don’t mock me, Hephaestion,” he whispered softly, fingers drawing circles into the couch under him.

“I’m not,” he answered plainly. Alexander looked up and raised his eyebrows at him, “Well… maybe I am a bit. But you just presented me to the Persian Royal Family as your ‘other self’, showed your trust in me by being alone with them with only me as witness  _ and _ took me out of the uncomfortable position of nearly strangling a very quick heir to the throne.”

Alexander laughed, slowly letting his body fall forward towards Hephaestion.

“Go big or go home. Callisthenes will marvel at the story and even Eumenes will mark it as a ‘tale for posterity’, don’t you think?”

Hephaestion looked at him, supporting both their weight on his arms. He could feel Alexander’s heart beat against his left arm, rhythmically thumping his worries away. Alexander could be reckless in his actions but he could also be careful and poised when he felt like it. This morning, he had shown to Hephaestion he knew how to play the role of King beautifully.

He was proud of him. 

Alexander reached out his arm and took Hephaestion’s, getting up from the couch and pulling him up roughly. 

“Come, I told Hermolaus to not disturb us all afternoon. We need to sleep,” he said slowly, a yawn breaking in half the last word.

Hephaestion let himself be dragged towards the Royal Bed again, this time around appreciating from afar the softness of the sheets and coverlets. He was falling asleep on his feet. He let Alexander manhandle him into the bed, quickly taking his  _ chiton _ off, all State costume long shed. Hephaestion let his head fall to the nearest pillow, head slowly throbbing at the sweetness of its softness. He felt Alexander cover them both with the purple coverlet.

“Glad you dismissed the Pages,” said Hephaestion behind a yawn. 

Alexander scooted closer to him and buried his face in his neck, kissing softly, “Glad you remembered to greet me, and not bid me goodbye in front of the Pages earlier,” he whispered. 

Hephaestion had headed to his tent after exiting the Royal Family’s tent, only for show. Men were still going to talk, but at least he wanted the Pages to see him  _ arriving _ at Alexander’s tent early in the morning, not leaving it.

Hephaestion chuckled. “Glad I'm here… Alexander,” he whispered, eyes fighting to close at last.

Alexander sighed against his neck, breath slowing down. He was falling asleep. Hephaestion took his chance, he had to take the most out of this moment of weakness.

“Should I announce that you 'too are Hephaestion' to the soldiers, then?” he whispered playfully, hoping that Alexander was drowsy enough to say yes.

Alexander lightly bit his neck. Hephaestion chuckled again. He was still too awake to accept.

“Of course not, love. That 'He too is Alexander' just meant there’s more  _ me _ for the world,” he said mischievously, kissing the same spot he had bit.

Hephaestion buried his nose into his scalp, drawing him closer still, almost too close.

“I’m going to choke you to death, you tyrannical egomaniac. Then we’ll see how much of  _ you _ is left for the world,” he said behind clenched teeth, fighting the laughter on the pit of his stomach.

Alexander began laughing against his chest, noise subdued in Hephaestion’s half hearted attempt at regicide. He began thrusting his arms around, faking loss of breath between laughs.

Hephaestion was laughing as he relaxed his grip and found himself being attacked by quick kisses up his neck, tracing rapidly the line of his jaw and pecking him across the face. They continued laughing until the soft kisses turned to deep kisses. After a while, they accepted sleep was not going to come soon to either of them.

Between the still crumpled sheets from the previous night of passion, Hephaestion was slowly tracing down a path of kisses down Alexander’s chest, softly whispering sweet sleep-induced nothingness into his skin. King or no King, conqueror or conquered, his feelings towards Alexander were stronger than the glory of victory or the pride in virtue.

From somewhere above him, he heard a whisper.

“Of course, I too  _ am _ Hephaestion…”

He felt Alexander’s hands burrow themselves into his hair as he smiled into his skin, tracing the path even lower with kisses.

They had glory before them, as much as they had blood. But everything or nothing at all would feel the same to Hephaestion if he was allowed to keep that voice close to his.

“I too am... oh,  _ Hephaestion _ …” Alexander moaned softly.

For that voice held his heart in its pauses. And that voice would carry him through anything.

Through fire and across mountains.

And into the ends of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this series (4 consecutive stories).
> 
> Feel free to comment and let me know what you thought about it. I might have a couple more ideas for other series, but we'll see what 2021 brings...


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